Lars
by Mac
Summary: Owen Lars has not seen his nephew for several hours and the Empire is closing in...


A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

STAR WARS

- LARS -

by

Doug Mac Donald

  
        It was a rare occurrence for Owen Lars to allow himself to become distracted while working. Running a modest, if not the largest moisture farm on Tatooine required absolute concentration as well as determination harder than the heat beating down on the farmer's back. The twin suns of Tatooine were out with a fury, burning bright and hot as they did each and every day. But it was not the oppressive heat that was bothering this farmer; he was more than used to its unkind caress.   
        Something else entirely was bothering him.   
        Standing on the south ridge, arching his back toward the endless, cloudless blue sky, eyes tightened in an endless squint, Owen tried to pinpoint the ever-elusive distraction. His nephew was bothering him to a great degree and no matter how hard he tried concentrating on the condensers before him, his thoughts kept returning to Luke. The boy had been a handful lately, nearly wrecking his skyhopper on a foolish run through Beggar's Canyon with his equally foolish 'friends', and then there was his endless badgering about joining the Academy.   
        'The Academy', Owen grunted to himself with a shake of the head. 'Far too much like his father. Far too much.' That was the one promise Owen had made to his crazy brother when he took Luke under his guard, he would be damned if he would allow Luke to follow a short journey to his death. Here, on the farm, Luke was safe. The Academy. It was always the Academy with young Skywalker. His yearning had grown stronger since Biggs had been accepted there a few days ago.   
        Biggs Darklighter was an entirely different story, his head was always in space, probably further than Luke's, and he was also partially responsible for the damage to Luke's skyhopper and for that Owens anger doubled. Tatooine was better off without that particular wildcard. Owen shook his head once more.   
        'Darklighter won't amount to anything, always known that. Why can't Luke see what a dead end the Academy is? I say slow, and he goes fast. That's always been the way with him. Always.'   
        A high -pitched whistle echoing across the ridge brought Owen back to his proper mind. The WED 15 treadwell droid holding several pieces of condenser in its eight arms garbled another string of commands.   
        "All right, let's get back to work."   
        Slowly, with some uncertainty, the moisture farmer soon slipped into his most comfortable state of being, a place where he acts and is not forced o think. He knows these condensers well, if need be, he could have them repaired in an hour, during the worst sandstorm. But the purpose of today was to develop his nephew to do the same.   
        "I told him to have those two new droids out here. In my day we didn't have droids who could understand the workings of these damn condensers." Eyeing the droid, he continued: "Huh, and you hardly compare to those two new ones." The droid beeped something unintelligible.   
        It was barely midday and Luke was nowhere to be seen. Owen supposed he should have been used to that by now, but something struck him as odd this day. He was sure Luke would have at least rushed the droids cleaning and had them doing ALL of the work out here, so that he had more time to daydream. When Owen came out here this morning, he half expected to see Luke laying up against the condenser, hat pulled over his eyes in blissful slumber, with the two new droids bent over the machine. If that were not the case, Luke would have had his macrobinoculars out, searching the stars. But that was not the case either. Luke was not on the farm, and neither were the two new droids.   
        Those two new units had cost him a bundle, especially the gold one. But Beru wanted a translator and fewer and fewer people were speaking Bocce these days, what with all of the Imperial activity on their usually forgotten planet. The Empire forced their people to speak standard. But Beru was stubborn, sometimes more so than he.   
        Luke's landspeeder was also missing.   
        Owen had already checked Luke's usual haunts, Tosche Station, Beggar's Canyon, and even the Darklighter Farm. But the old speeder did not turn up, and neither did his nephew.   
        A number of years ago, Owed had hooked up com-channels to each condenser directly linked back to the farm so that he could contact Beru or Luke at any time to bring him any supplies he might need. Owen reached over and opened up the com. "Beru?" He paused for a minute before calling her name a second time.   
        "Mm?" a static filled voice replied.   
        "Pick me up, I'm over by the South Ridge."   
        Beru knew her husband only too well. "What is Owen, what's wrong?" Her husband never used the family landspeeder unnecessarily; fuel was as precious a resource as water in these parts. Instead, Owen chose to make his rounds across the farmland by foot. Without stopping it was a good six-hour walk in a tight circle. But with his continuous maintenance checks, it took that much longer.   
        "Nothing's wrong." Owen turned back to the droid and ordered it home. The treadwell garbled an affirmative. Sluggishly it turned its pale blue binocular head around and began the long trek back to the garage where it would power down for the day. The farmer wrestled with his thoughts a moment longer and then depressed the com-link once again. "Beru? Have you heard from Luke yet?"   
        "He'll be fine Owen. You'll see." The sweet static-filled voice replied.   
        "I hope he hasn't gone and done anything impulsive."   
        The bodiless voice laughed, a small chitter of a laugh. "Everything Luke does is impulsive Owen, if he actually thought something through I would be worried."   
        Owen kept his famous scowl etched into his face, unamused.   
        'If he went and transmitted his application…'   
        But such thoughts were fruitless, even for Owen Lars. The old farmer activated the small field generator he also had personally fitted to every vaporator, strong enough to keep even the most ambitious Jawa away, and turned his gaze to the horizon.   
  
  
        The old family landspeeder had not looked so beat up to Owens eyes as it did now as it pulled up. As Beru pulled the speeder to a rolling stop, the piercingly loud whine of the engines sputtered angrily. Beru keyed in the sequence to open the enclosed cockpit and looked at her husband with worry as he climbed aboard.   
        "All right, let's go."   
        The turbines wailed louder as the landspeeder sped across the farm. As usual Owen was silent and had to be drawn into conversation. "So what have you decided Owen? About Luke and his dreams, I mean."   
        Owen continued to stare out the window at the moisture vaporators whizzing past. "I said I'd make it up to him and I will. You just don't understand Beru, The Harvest…."   
        His wife of so many years drew angry with that and cut him off short. "The Harvest! That's all you ever talk about Owen, it's your academy. You don't need Luke anymore Owen. You've had more than enough droids now for two seasons. And you're still buying more. When will you understand that you can't shelter the poor boy for your entire life? What will happen to Luke when we're gone?"   
        Feeling angry himself, Owen was not too surprised to hear his own voice growing angrier. "Beru, we're finally crawling out of debt. This season, we'll finally make enough. I'll hire more hands like I promised. It won't kill him to wait another season."   
        "No it won't, but I'll tell you what will happen to him. He will grow into an angry old man, harvesting a farm of regret and bitterness, who will forever hate the fact that he did not do what he dreamed of."   
        Seething with anger, more so because he knew she was right. Beru was always right. She did not speak like this to him very often, but he had learned from experience that it was always with good cause whenever she did. But that didn't mean he had to enjoy it. And it was true; Luke Skywalker would turn into the dark shadow of Owen Lars, a man full of unfulfilled aspirations. While his brother was off fighting the Clone Wars, obedient Owen stayed behind to look after his family. Somewhere along the line, he married and purchased his own moisture farm.   
        "Stop! Stop the speeder!" Owen had shouted so suddenly that Beru had no trouble complying. "What is that?" Beru had no reply, but her mind was quickly filling with fear.   
        Across the horizon was a vast cloud of sand and dust slowly rolling its way across the desert. It was perhaps a mile across and in the heart of the cloud was tiny black shapes and they were approaching fast. Owen squinted at the dust cloud, thinking the exact same thoughts as his wife: a Tusken Raid. The Tusken Raiders were aggressive nomads traveling the Jundland Wastes; they hated humanity and killed without provocation. Owen had once fended off one of their raids many years ago when Luke was a child. He did not wish to go through that again. "Where are my macros? Are the booster coils primed? Get us back to the house, Beru, hurry."   
        The landspeeder protested from the added strain, but the booster coils kicked in nonetheless and the small ship raced away from the approaching storm.   
  
  
        Owen was out of the landspeeder before it had a chance to come to a complete stop. He raced into the garage, immediately searching his workbench. "Look at this mess," he said knocking over Luke's model skyhopper. He called over to Beru who had a worried look on her face. Owen was not the young man he used to be, and although ferocious, she doubted that he could stand up against another raid. She wondered if she could convince him to flee before it was too late.   
        "Now where are those damn things?"   
        Sweeping a pile of tools onto the floor with a clatter, Owen found a small hand-held device and slipped them into his pocket. Go get me the rifles, make sure they're fully charged."   
        There was no question, Owen was going to stay and fight.   
        Beru raised her skirt as she turned to race down the gangplank. "We need to contact the militia. I'll see if I can hail the other farmers too, they're in as much danger as we are."   
        "Damn it to hell woman, those vultures won't help us, they would love to see us go under. Get me those rifles!"   
        As Beru slipped away, past Luke's grounded skyhopper, Owen lumbered after her, wishing he were a few years younger.   
  
  
        It had been a cool night when Owen Lars had faced the Tusken Raiders the first time, over fifteen years ago. Luke was already asleep in his bunk, when the dust cloud enveloped the Lars farm. Owen had just shut the power down for the night when he had heard the terrible howling barks coming from every direction. The lumbering banthas howled in excitement as they pounded their way toward the farm. It was these mighty beasts that had helped kick up all of the sand and dust into the atmosphere. Obviously no animal could generate such a large storm, but it was terrifying to realize that the sandpeople had a kind of intelligence which made them cunning enough to use a natural sandstorm as cover.   
        The plains had been quiet only moments before, not a wind stirred. Owen stepped out of the generator bunker bearing only a rifle. The stench of the creatures was all around him, heavy decay, and other smells he would love to forget. And then, slowly, surely the howling started, terrible phantom wails ringing in the new cold night. The ground trembled beneath Owen's sandal covered feet and then it shook as though an army of Imperial Walkers had touched down. Within seconds, Owen was surrounded by the frenzy of screams of the sandpeople, in the distance, a flash of light appeared, one of the banthas had run down one of his vaporators. And that had been enough for Owen Lars.   
        Opening fire with the laser rifle, the bantha fell to the ground, silenced forever. The rider flew forward and landed badly on its leg. The creature collapsed and writhed with another howl.   
        Angered, the sandpeople broke their single file formation and split across the plains. In a brown blur, one of the raiders appeared suddenly in front of Owen and brought its gaffi stick down upon him.   
        Owens cheek had split open with a painful burning, but he acted as though it were nothing. Opening fire again, this time at point blank range, the Tusken Raider fell in a bundle of light brown robes. Owen gave no thought to the deadly poison said to tip the gaffi sticks. He brought his hand to his face and felt the blood sliding down his face. Angered, he gave a loud, howling cry. The first wave of Tuskens flinched at the noise, Owen grunted at how skittish these creatures were. Taking aim again, Owen brought a third raider down, a large gaping hole appearing in the side of the creature's head.   
        "Beru!" he shouted through the wailing storm. "Now woman! Bring them to me!"   
        The sandpeople were everywhere now, trampling the farm, raiding their water stores, and destroying the womprat pens. Owen had too many targets to choose from, and did not know which shot to take first. Did he save the womprat pens, and save himself headaches down the road? Or did he protect their water reserves with the hopes of selling to make enough to repair tonight's damage?   
        "Owen! The generator's lost power!" Beru called, sounding as though she were a galaxy away.   
        Owen turned and indeed could make out a thick column of dark black smoke rising within the surrounding sandstorm. Firing two more rounds from his rifle, Owen ran for cover to the main bunker which led to their underground home.   
        "You're injured."   
        Nodding, Owen reached over and took a small device from his wife's hand. Holding it to his mouth he blew into it as hard as he could, long and loud. What followed was a monstrous howl that seemed to echo forever. A silence descended across the plain after that, the war cries ceased, the stomping stopped.   
        To someone not from Tatooine, people would have thought that Owen Lars held some deep magical power, but to Owen the most important magic was his self-made Krayt Dragon call. Seizing the silence, Owen blew the call again, this time louder and longer. The Raiders had needed no other waning. They took to their mounts, doubling up on some, while Owen charged out of his home, releasing a barrage of laser blasts after the fleeing creatures.   
        It was a wonder that Luke did not wake up that night. That child was always dashing to the nearest window whenever he heard a loud speeder go roaring past down the lane. Loud, fast noises had always excited him, and Luke always wanted to be the first to see the latest skyhopper model.   
        It had not taken long for word to get around that Owen Lars had fended off a Tusken Raid with only a laser rifle. Spending the next several weeks inside his home, sick from the poisoned gaffi stick, only made the story that much grander. But, as to his personality, Owen was not impressed. He had done what he needed to do, no more, no less. Much of his farm had been destroyed and with that in mind it was a hollow victory. Many nights afterward, Owen would stand guard, determined to be better prepared should the sandpeople attack, and in fact deep inside he had **hoped** for them to return. That night, so many years ago, Owen Lars had been the man he was meant to be, strong, and fearless. That night, Owen had felt like a Jedi.   
  
  
        Those feelings had been buried long ago by years of sand. Owen was scared this night as the storm cloud blew across the plan; he was older now and worried about his nephew. It was difficult to admit, even to himself, but it was the purest truth. In those last few minutes he prayed for Luke, feeling in his heart that Luke was already dead, attacked by the sandpeople and laying beneath the two blazing suns. Owen had been lucky in his youth, he had been cut by a gaffi stick and survived, somehow he did not think Luke would be so lucky.   
        "Beru, help me find those Krayt calls, if Luke scavenged them for his speeder, I'll…."   
        Beru held the device in her hand. "Here's one."   
        "All right, get to the garage Beru."   
        "Whatever for, Owen? We stand a greater chance…"   
        He cut her off with a glance, showing how scared he really was. "Get over to the garage and open every channel to ever comlink on every vaporator and every condenser on this farm." She was already turning before he had finished. "Blow that call into the transmitter. We'll scare them away before they hit the inner perimeter."   
        Owen looked at his two rifles, old and battered, used during ancient times, sorely out of date now. Even the sandpeople had more developed armaments stolen from the Mos Eisley Raids.   
        "Owen!" Beru's voice came from the garage. "Owen, there's something wrong!"   
        Cursing, the white-robed man ran to the garage as fast as his feeble legs could take him. "What is it?"   
        Beru, turning to her husband had tears in her eyes. "Listen." Carefully she blew into the Krayt call. In the distance, the sound was muffled and then suddenly the com-channel responded with a sheet of static. Owen frowned, wondering what this all meant. "The same thing has happened to each post, systematically." Beru, switching to yet another com-channel tried again. Static appeared the second the call was complete.   
        Owen drew in a deep breath, coming to a difficult decision. "Beru. Get to the cellar and stay there. Don't come out no matter what you hear."   
        The woman stood, crying freely now, for she too was thinking the worst for Luke. And she knew what this raid meant, that she might very well spend the rest of her days as a widow.   
        She turned, reluctant to leave, but Owen stopped her. Gently he turned her face to his. "Beru, you have been…wonderful to me. I need you to know that." Despite her grim future, Beru Lars smiled and fell into his arms.   
        "I know, Owen. But this night isn't over. Luke will be fine. You mustn't blame yourself."   
        Nodding, he kissed her for the last time.   
        Owen Lars stepped into the Tatooine day, holding a rifle in each hand. The sand cloud was blowing past him now, making him squint from the dust and grit. Grains caught his beard. It didn't take him long to discover his error. The sandpeople were far from here. Now he understood why the com-channels returned static. From laser blasts.   
        It was the Empire.   
        Three dewback patrols appeared, the cause of the sand clouds. Every few seconds a red flash would appear and then a small column of black smoke would rise from yet another blasted vaporator. On either side of the dewback patrols were two Imperial troop transport speeders, filled with twenty-four armed Imperial Stormtroopers. The two captain's orange shoulder gear burned brightly beneath the twin suns.   
        His situation had gone from grim to hopeless. Owen knew that the second the Empire appeared. Standing there with the wind blowing sand across his farm, Owen made peace with himself and with his nephew wherever he was, and wherever his destiny may bring him. He stood there, holding the two laser rifles, heart softening, instead of hardening further. He stood there, wishing he could make amends with Luke in person. He would, if he could transmit Luke's application to the Academy himself. Owen could not control the lives of others, especially his nephew, and that would remain his one single regret, that he ever tried.   
        The second the Empire was in his sights, Owen let the two rifles discharge into the incoming squadron. The first dozen shots brought down a handful of troopers, but that was all the damage he could do.   
        The Empire opened fire.   
        Three laserblasts hit Owen with such an impact that he fell backwards against the stone entranceway. "Beru," he said through clenched teeth.   
        The dewbacks gave a dry croaking moan at the sudden display of light. A silence filled the plain as the captain stepped forward. A soft click could be heard as his helmet comlink activated itself. "You have illegally purchased two droids, where are they now?"   
        Owen shook his head.   
        The soft click was heard again. "Bring out your droids."   
        Owen shook his head again. His hand, which had been resting in his cloak pocket, suddenly brought forth a small metallic ball. It looked very much like a thermal detonator, but was far less sinister. It was a flashflare, a device that when activated would emit a quick searing blast of blinding white light. All moisture farmers were equipped with these. They had been designed to be seen during the brightest Tatooine day, a white light that looked like reflecting metal and could be seen miles away. When one was activated, anyone who saw the flash was obligated to help the person in distress.   
        At close range it was blinding.   
        Activating it, Owen stumbled out of sight, down a flight of stone stairs in search of his wife.   
        The Stormtroopers glare-treated helmet could not compensate for such a concentrated light source and was momentarily blinded. He stumbled away, brining his gun-wielding hand to he head, trying to shake away the two white suns that spotted his vision. The dewbacks went wild with rage and pain. From one of the troop transports, a dozen troopers disembarked and opened fire across the farm, destroying the generator, sending a large black column of smoke into the air. Laser blasts criss-crossed and made their way down the same stairs Owen had fled.   
        Within the homestead, the cellar door creaked open as Beru came running up the steps. "Owen!"   
        "Not…uh…raiders," he managed to say. His chest was bleeding and he knew he was dying. "Empire. Let's….move. Get….speeder."   
        Muffled explosions could be heard from above the ground as the power generator finally blew. Owen and Beru slowly shuffled their way through the sudden cool darkness that had enveloped them. Laser blasts could be heard ringing off of metal. And then, amidst all of the confusion, Owen Lars heard the sound that sealed their fate. Metal bouncing against stone. A thermal detonator rolled across the cool basement floor. Owen, taking his wife, pushed her up the stairs just as the thermal device went off.   
        The explosion rocked the structure, a flash of light, followed by a wave of flames. Beru saw none of this, and only felt the wave of heat. When she stepped out of the home, onto the plains the rifle of a stormtrooper greeted her. The Imperial blasted her in the stomach, sending her backwards. A wall of flame came rushing out of the basement; Owen was running just ahead of it, but was already badly burned from the blast. The trooper cut him down too and he fell backwards, next to his dead wife.   
        The chemical fire caught the two bodies, and turned the sand to glass. The Empire, unable to find the droids they were looking for, moved on.   
  
  
        Several hours later, Luke Skywalker would return to see his homestead destroyed, a dark pillar of smoke rising from the power generator housing. He would call out uncertainly:   
        "Uncle Owen? Aunt Beru? Uncle Owen?"   
        As the young man utters these few words, his eyes fall upon the smoking skeletal remains of the only family he has ever known. Unable to speak, and unable to come to terms with his feelings, Luke Skywalker drowns his fear with hatred. But he would soon come to a decision and utter the words to Ben Kenobi: "I want to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi like my father."   
        His decision and hardened resolve would come from a most unexpected place, his Tatooine home and his Aunt and Uncle that raised him.   
  



End file.
